Whipped Topping
by Evil Cosmic Triplets
Summary: They've got all the fixings for a great Christmas meal. It's their first official Christmas together, as a family - Steve, Danny and Grace. Problem is that they've forgotten the whipped topping. Danny goes out to get some, and Christmas is never the same. See A/N and warnings inside. Written for lj Hawaii Five-0 Holiday Fic Exchange.
1. Never Meant to Let You Go

**Disclaimer: **I do not own the characters of this work of fiction, nor am I making a profit, monetary or otherwise, through the writing of this.

**Warning:** There is a death, but of an OC. Angst, but there is happy fluff at the end - I promise. Bear with it; I don't write death fics, unless I can bring non-OC characters back from the dead.

**A/N:** Written for ciaimpala at lj-community h50_holidayswap. Read by animegirl1129 and K. Holtzman. Recommended song: Thriving Ivory's, "Flowers for a Ghost."

* * *

_Two days, three hours and six and a half minutes_, Steve notes, and he writes the time down in Danny's worn, black notebook – 15:56:01 PM, December 27th, 2012.

Looking back, Steve wishes that he hadn't asked Danny to go to the store to get whipped topping for the pie Kono and Ben had dropped off for Danny, Grace and he when they'd stopped by to wish them a joy filled, "Mele Kalikimaka."

It was a foolish, unnecessary errand. They could've had their pie without it, but Grace had wanted whipped cream, and, for once, so had Steve. Thanksgiving and Christmas were the only times of the year he could indulge in sweets. Having Grace, his step-daughter officially, as of December 1st, for the whole Christmas break, made him even more inclined to give into the temptation to eat a little extra and allow his sweet tooth to come to the fore.

Danny found it impossible to resist their matching puppy dog eyes and he'd caved, promising to, '…be back quicker than you and Uncle Steve can sing, "The Twelve Days of Christmas," monkey.'

That was the last that Steve and Grace had seen of Danny. He'd walked out of the door with a spring to his step and a smile on his face, and had not returned. Would never return.

The call came at 12:50:01, December 25th, and Steve had written that down in Danny's notebook afterwards, wanting to make sure to record every single second – as though this was part of an investigation. It was the only thing he could think to do. Steve couldn't let go of Danny, and, though it was a vain exercise, writing in Danny's notebook made him feel as though he was somehow close to the man he'd lost.

It was like something straight out of a movie, and Steve found himself wishing that Danny was around so he could ask his partner what movie it was that he was thinking of – the one where a loved one left home on a simple errand, and just never came back.

"What's the name of that movie Danno?" Steve asks as he flips the notebook closed and carefully lays it down on the end table. "The one where the wife sends her husband out for a can of soup, or," he rubs at his eyes and pushes the tears away, because Grace is just outside, on the beach, playing in the water with Kono and Chin, "or maybe it was something else. I can't remember Danno."

The call hadn't been what he'd anticipated. And he'd had to sit down before he fell down. Grace had picked up on the fact that something was wrong right away, and her face had crumpled and tears had fallen and she'd run from the kitchen before Steve could get to her. Not that he could've moved had he really tried.

"There must be some mistake," Steve can remember saying, though how he'd managed to say those words through numb lips and a tongue that didn't seem to want to work, he'll never know, "Detective Williams went to the grocery store to get some whipped cream."

"Did Detective Danny Williams drive silver, 2010 Chevrolet Camaro with the license plate MIST-1?"

The tinny voice on the phone had sounded like it was coming through a wind tunnel, the sound had been warbled and Steve's vision had gone in and out of focus. He'd had to have the officer repeat himself five times before he'd understood what it was that the man was asking him.

"Yes," Steve had said, shaking his head to clear it – he remembers that distinctly now, how his ears had rung and how black dots had danced across his vision, how he could hear Grace's quiet sobs coming from her bedroom upstairs – "Danny drives a silver Camaro. He went to get some whipped cream."

Steve had felt compelled to repeat that last part, to remind the officer of why Danny had left the house that day. Though, now, as he thinks back, Steve can't, for the life of him, remember why it had been so important to him that the officer understand that. It hadn't made a difference in the end. It had still been Danny's car which had been totaled. Still Danny's blood that had been found smeared all over the dashboard. Still Danny's body burnt beyond all recognition by the fire that had been sparked by a leak in the oil tanker which had hit Danny's car.

"Hey, Uncle Steve, why don't you come out and join us on the beach?" Kono's voice breaks through his thoughts, and Steve pushes himself up off the couch.

Steve hasn't called Rachel yet. Hasn't told her the news that Danny is dead. That her ex-husband was killed by a careless driver while on his way home from getting a stupid container of whipped topping. He doesn't want to ruin her and Stan's holiday, even though he knows that Grace can use her mom right now, and that Rachel will go off on him once he does tell her.

But they aren't due back on island until after New Year's, and Steve doesn't want to give up Grace just yet. She's the only living tie he's got left of Danny right now, and maybe it's selfish of him to keep her with him, but Steve doesn't care, except, of course he does, and he isn't sure what he should be doing, what Danny would do if Grace was Steve's and he'd died instead of Danny. Danny would know what do, and whatever he did would inevitably be the right thing.

He's caught between a rock and a hard place – cliché as that is. Rachel knowing now won't change anything; it'll just taint her memory of her little boy's Christmas, and Steve can remember how Danny's eyes had filled with tears and how his voice had gotten husky as he'd seen Rachel, Stan and little Charles off at the airport. Steve thinks that Danny would approve of the decision that he's made. That maybe it is on par with what Danny would have done.

Steve's caught around the waist as Grace wraps her arms around him in a tackle-hug before he can even make it past the lanai. And his heart catches in his throat.

"Whoa there," Steve says, mustering up a smile that he doesn't feel when Grace looks up at him.

Though her eyes are brown and not the clear blue of her father's, the look in them is one Steve's often seen in Danny's when he's being playful or bantering with him. It nearly fells him, but he manages to brace himself against the house with one hand and he places his other hand on Grace's shoulder.

"Have you and Auntie Kono been playing tackle football without me?" Steve ruffles her hair and Grace shakes her head.

"I just missed you is all," she says, and then she releases her hold on him, and steps back to look at him in a way that is so reminiscent of Danny that it takes all of the self-control that Steve has not to breakdown and cry.

"We're hunting for hermit crabs," Grace says after a pause, and then she catches Steve's hand in hers and tugs, pulling him down toward the beach where Chin and Kono are sitting with their feet in the surf.

"Auntie Kono says that they make good pets," Grace explains.

"Don't you already have a couple of pets?" Steve asks, and even the memory of the dog, Jersey – after much deliberation and Steve still thinks Cujo would've been a more fitting name for the dog – that Danny had rescued, brings tears to his eyes.

"This one isn't for me, Uncle Steve, it's for you," Grace says seriously. Her forehead wrinkles and she purses her lips, and puts a hand on her hip as though she's expecting him to protest.

And while there are a million and one reasons why he should say, no, to keeping a hermit crab as a pet, not the least of which is salmonella, Steve doesn't say anything. Instead, he nods his head thoughtfully.

"You need something to occupy your time with, something to take care of, so that when you miss Danno," her voice cracks a little and Steve wants to gather her up and hug her, but he doesn't because that isn't what she needs right now, "you can look at Hermie or maybe Hermione, and know that you aren't alone."

Steve can't keep the tears at bay, and he stifles a sob, but he nods and wipes at his tears. He pulls Grace in for a hug.

"Yeah, okay," he says, managing to control his emotions by sheer force of will that's a hallmark of his military training. "I think I'll name him or her Grace, though. That okay with you?"

Grace thinks about it and her nose crinkles. "Only if it's a girl, Uncle Steve, Grace is not a very good name for a boy, even if it is just a hermit crab."

"That's true, brah," Chin says, and he rests a hand on Steve's arm.

"Yeah, Grace is a girl's name, boss," Kono adds. "If it's a boy, I vote we call him Joe or maybe Bob."

Steve knows what his team, the rest of his team, is doing, and he loves them for it. He dries the rest of his tears with the back of his hand, knowing that there'll be time for crying after Kono and Chin have left and long after Grace has gone to sleep. Right now he needs to be a rock for his step-daughter. Like Danny would have been for her if he'd have been the one who'd gone out for whipped topping instead.

"I don't know about Joe or Bob, I think maybe Hermie would be a fine name for a boy, though," Steve says, siding with Grace.

Later that night, before he falls into bed, exhausted because Kono and Chin had kept him and Grace busy all day, Steve writes: _It's been three days, twelve hours and ten minutes since you left, Danny. You would have loved today. Kono and Chin came over and played with Grace. We've got a pet now – a hermit crab named Jersey Jr. You should've seen the look on Grace's face when the crab walked across her hand. I miss you. December 28__th__, 00:10:01. I'm going to tell Rachel, I promise, just, not yet._

* * *

Reviews would be greatly appreciated. Thank you


	2. Life's Choices

**Disclaimer**: See initial chapter.

**A/N**:This chapter features an OC; and also might explain quite a bit. I've added a little bit of material to this chapter that was not in the original.

* * *

When Kymani Kealoha decides to commit his very first criminal act, to impress his friends, he has no idea that it will also be his very last action, criminal or otherwise, on this earth. Had he known that, he wouldn't have slammed the gun he'd taken from his grandfather's lockbox against the side of some ha'ole's head as the man was just settling behind the wheel of his car, getting blood all over the, otherwise pristine, dashboard.

He also wouldn't have pulled the stunned man from the car or stolen the shiny, silver Camaro out of Safeway's parking lot, peeling out of the parking stall at such a fast clip that he inadvertently hit the man he'd stolen it from and sent him sprawling to the pavement. The man didn't get up, and, though the parking lot was relatively empty, due to the holiday, Kymani feared that the man might get run over by an inattentive driver if he didn't move soon.

Kymani kept an eye on the downed man as he sped out of the parking lot, and his stomach knotted up with fear and concern for the man, because he didn't want to kill anyone – he just needed to get a car to impress Kalani and his crew. They hadn't been specific. It didn't need to be fancy. He just needed to prove himself, show that he was worthy to roll with them.

Maybe if Kymani hadn't been looking in the rearview mirror, checking to see if the blonde ha'ole was going to get up, he would've been able to hit the brakes on the car in time to stop it from crashing into an oil truck.

Unfortunately, Father Time does not turn back the clock for just anyone. He goes on his daily course, as plotted, and doesn't cast a single glance backward. And so, Kymani Kealoha doesn't get the opportunity to change the course of events which lead to his fiery death.

Ahonui and Ilima Kealoha watch the sidewalk in vain for their sixteen year old grandson – the boy they'd raised from infancy because his mother hadn't wanted him, she'd been a child herself – to return with the potatoes his grandmother had forgotten to buy the day before. They clutch a hand to their throats and shake their heads when a great fireball lights up the sky and a loud explosion rocks their small, peaceful neighborhood.

When the afternoon wears on, and Ahonui Kealoha cannot reach his grandson by cellphone, he decides to go look for the boy, because this is unusual behavior, even though the teen has been rebelling lately. He's always been such a good, well-behaved boy, and Ahonui is convinced that, if it wasn't for that crowd of boys he's fallen in with recently, Kymani would not be in any trouble at all.

"Be careful Nui," 'Ilima says, and she places her hand over her heart.

She watches her husband walk down the street, and there's a small part of her that just knows he'll be returning without their grandson, that their Kymani, in whatever twist of fate, has been lost to them forever.

Christmas comes and goes for the Kealoha family, their eyes ever on the front door, ears tuned to listen for the telltale sound of his keys jingling as he takes them out of his pocket. His presents sit, unopened, under the tree. Police have been called, they aren't hopeful, but they are looking.

Three days later, Ilima finally gets some sleep. Her silent, nightly vigil hasn't brought her boy home, and she knows, in her heart, that he's gone.

* * *

Thoughts?


	3. Insane

**Disclaimer**: See initial chapter.

**A/N**: I had intended to post this chapter earlier, but yesterday turned out to be far more hectic than I thought it would.

* * *

Sometime later that morning, well before the sun rises, Steve wakes and sits up straight up in bed. He's disoriented and his heart feels like it's about to beat out of his chest. He's afraid, awakened from some nightmare that he can't recall the details of. He reaches a hand out, needing to touch Danny, because he needs the reassurance the other man offers him, but something feels off. He can't quite put his finger on what it is, though.

Danny's not there beside him, and really, he should have realized that well before he reached out toward his partner's side of the bed which is cold and empty. He should have realized Danny wasn't there because the sound of light snoring was absent.

And then it hits him, like a sucker punch right to the gut, that Danny's dead. His side of the bed will be silent and empty for the rest of Steve's life. He can't see himself falling in love again. What he had with Catherine wasn't love, it was a relationship of convenience and mutual benefit. He and Catherine are still friends, but she won't be sharing his bed with him.

His breath hitches, his stomach clenches, and then he's out of bed quicker than his brain can actually process the action, kneeling beside the toilet and retching until there's nothing left but dark yellowish bile. He's sweaty, his head aches and he's dizzy, and still his stomach seems intent upon expelling the entirety of his stomach lining.

He remembers being this way when his mother had died, hiding the sickness from his father and Mary because he hadn't wanted to worry them, and his father had had enough to deal with at the time – the funeral, two grieving kids, and his own broken heart. He now appreciates what his father went through when Doris died. Steve had thought his father distant and uncaring toward him and Mary, but now he understood.

He wonders what his father would have done had Doris came back from the dead when he was still alive. If he'd have taken her back, without question, or if he'd have turned his back on her because of her deception. He wonders what he'd do if Danny showed up alive a decade later, claiming that he'd faked his own death to protect him and Grace.

The bathroom spins as Steve lifts his head from where he's been resting it against the cool porcelain, and he closes his eyes, waiting for the vertigo to stop. At first it doesn't and his stomach complains, but Steve tamps down on the desire to throw up, because he can't spend the rest of the day in the bathroom, and he remembers Danny's insane pride regarding his puke-free streak. It makes him smile, even as a groan escapes his lips, and he breathes in and out through his nose until the overwhelming desire to resume his former position over the toilet bowl subsides.

How he actually manages to get himself up on his feet is a mystery to Steve, and he hobbles back to his bed, relying heavily upon the wall to support him. It takes him an obscene amount of time for him to make it back to his bed, and, once he does, he looks over at Danny's side of the bed – the emptiness and the quiet are suddenly too much for him. Steve gathers up his pillow, and then Danny's because it still smells like him – hair gel and aftershave –and he tugs at the comforter until it comes free.

Though he lists dangerously to the left, Steve manages to remain upright, and he carefully navigates his way out of the bedroom, through the hallway and down the stairs with the comforter trailing behind him. He doesn't switch on the hallway light because he doesn't want to wake Grace, not when it appears that she's actually sleeping through the night for the first time since Christmas. As it is, he stubs his toe when he reaches the couch and hops around on one foot, biting back a curse.

Even though he's exhausted, it'll be a miracle if he can manage to get back to sleep with the way his heart is racing. He goes about setting up the couch – arranging the pillows so that Danny's is on top, because the scent of his lover makes him feel less alone – and lies down, pulling the comforter over him.

He rubs the fabric between his fingers, remembers an off-handed comment that Danny had made about it.

_i"This how you woo all of your lovers, McGarrett, beguile them with silky bed sheets and a charming bedside manner?" Danny looked up at him through his eyelashes, batting them coquettishly. _

"_You think I'm charming?"_

_Danny threw a pillow at his face and shook his head. "That's what you take out of this, that I think you're charming?"/i_

"You were the charming one, Danny," Steve whispers as he wriggles to find a comfortable position. He wonders how Danny could've slept comfortably on the couch for as long as he had, before they'd become a couple, because it's downright uncomfortable. He does manage to fall asleep, however, somewhere between remembering something that Danny had said about that couch and that he still had funeral arrangements to make and family members to inform.

Morning comes all too soon, the light of the sun streaming in and blinding him even though his eyes are closed. It takes him several long minutes of thoughtless blinking to figure out what he's doing on the couch with his and Danny's pillows and the comforter which Danny had declared an eyesore, but had endured because it was so soft and comfy. And then he remembers emptying the contents of his stomach, little as it was, at around three in the morning and being unable to sleep in the bed he'd shared with Danny. Camping out in the living room had seemed like a good idea at the time, but his back complains when he attempts to push himself into a sitting position.

Steve rubs at his lower back, easing some of the achiness that has seeped in. He wishes that Danny was there, because, for all of his talk, the man really_ is_ good with his hands, and his fingers can work a knot like nobody's business. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair and down his face and mutters, "C'mon Steve, you've got to stop thinking things like this. Danny's gone, he's not coming back, this isn't helping. You've got to move on."

"Uncle Steve?" Grace's voice is small, plaintive, buried in a yawn.

"What is it monkey?" Steve arches his back and stretches, hoping to work out some of the kinks. He pats the open space on the couch beside him, pushing the comforter aside so that there's just enough room for the little girl.

Grace blinks at him and frowns. She's clutching a big, fluffy stuffed rabbit in her arms, one that Steve knows Danny gave to her a couple of years ago. "Danno calls me that."

"I'm sorry," Steve says, and he tries not to let it get to him, because he remembers clearly when his mom died, how much he hurt, how he refused to be comforted by anyone.

Knowing that she's alive now doesn't help to ease the pain of losing her in the first place. He still feels like there's a gaping hole in his heart where his mother used to live. Her death, though it was faked, left him feeling lost, and for the longest time, he'd hated her for dying. Now, he wishes that she was here, that she hadn't left the islands for the holidays – something about keeping all of them safer that way – because he could use her right now, even if he doesn't fully trust her yet.

Grace bites her bottom lip and sniffs. She takes a few tentative steps toward the couch and then stands still, as if debating something. She foregoes the couch altogether and launches herself into Steve's arms. Twining her hands around his neck, she buries her head against his cheek. The pink bunny's smashed between them, its ears tickling the underside of his chin.

"You can call me monkey," Grace whispers, her breath's warm against his neck, "if you want."

Steve rubs circles in the center of her back, like he's seen Danny do countless times – with Grace, Rachel, with him when he'd let down his guard down. He kisses the top of her head, works some of the tangles in her hair loose with his fingers, and just waits for the tears which had begun to silently fall after she'd said the word, monkey, to subside.

Grace shudders and then she wipes at her eyes with the back of her hand. "Sorry for crying all over you." Her breath hitches, and she hiccoughs.

"It's okay, Gracie." Steve wipes away a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. "I understand, and you can cry all over me anytime you want, okay?" He looks into her eyes and smiles when she nods.

"You hungry?" Steve isn't hungry himself. He hasn't been hungry since Christmas afternoon, but he knows that Grace needs to be fed, that he needs to eat too – if not for himself, then for Grace, because she's looking to him as an example for how to handle this.

Grace shakes her head, but her stomach growls, and in spite of the tears and the gravity of the situation Steve chuckles and ruffles her hair.

"You might not be hungry, but your tummy sure is," he teases, and, despite his protesting back, he stands, hoisting Grace and the stuffed bunny up with a grunt, and he carries them to the kitchen.

The sound of the front door opening causes Steve to frown, he looks at the clock, it's a little after nine in the morning. He's not expecting Kono and Chin until eleven. They'd agreed to watch Grace while he went to the funeral home to make arrangements for Danny's wake and funeral.

Though there wasn't really much of a body left – nothing but a black charred husk that had once housed a vivacious spirit – holding a wake was a tradition that Steve wanted to keep. It was something that he and Danny had spoken about on occasion, usually after a grueling case in which death had felt imminent. Steve had guffawed at Danny's insistence on having a wake, citing that if one of them died in the line of duty, there'd be no doubt that they were in fact dead, but he'd promised that if Danny passed away before he did, that he would make sure that there was a wake.

The hairs on the back of Steve's neck and arms stand at attention as the sound of footsteps approach the living room. Kono and Chin would have called out a greeting.

He lowers Grace to the floor and places a finger over his lips. Her eyes grow wide, but she stays quiet and crawls under the table, dragging the beloved bunny behind her. He gives her a tight smile, and then walks around the counter.

Steve's grateful that he's still barefoot, and that the drawer he keeps a spare gun in, isn't squeaky. It's something that Danny would no doubt have disapproved of vociferously had he known about it – _A loaded weapon, in a drawer where my precious little girl, our little girl, could get her hands on it, Steven? You are certifiably insane. _

"Yeah, well, insane is gonna keep Grace safe," Steve mutters as he toggles off the safety on the gun.

He makes a mental note to teach Grace how to handle a gun properly, provided that Rachel doesn't cut him out of the little girl's life once she learns of Danny's death. Steve and Danny might not have what is considered to be a traditional marriage, though their kind of union is becoming more common and more universally accepted nowadays, but he loves Grace like she's his daughter. It would break his heart to lose her too. She's the only piece of Danno that he's got left, and he wants to hold onto her in any way that he can.

Steve takes one last look at Grace, gives her a quick, tense smile because he doesn't want to frighten her any more than she already is. _This could be nothing_, Steve tells himself, but something tells him otherwise. He stands to the side of the kitchen door, gun pointed toward the floor, just in case it is Chin or Kono and they didn't say anything because they thought he and Grace were still sleeping.

An indistinct shadow precedes the unexpected guest, and Steve raises his gun, pointing it at where he believes the intruder's chest to be, judging by the shadow that's been cast over the kitchen tile. For a split second he has a sense of déjà vu and he pushes it aside even as his mind continues to replay the first time that he met Danny in his father's garage. It's disconcerting.

The intruder steps into the light, and it isn't Kono or Chin.

"Hold it right there," Steve says, his voice and the hand holding the gun are both shaky.

* * *

Reviews would be greatly appreciated. Mahalo


	4. Third Day

**Disclaimer:** See initial chapter.

**A/N: **There are some differences in this version from the original which was posted on lj. Sorry to delay posting, but, if you read, I think perhaps you will understand why. Mahalos.

* * *

Steve's stomach roils and it feels like the floor is moving beneath his feet. He shakes his head, trying to clear it and when that doesn't work, he blinks and then wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand. He's hallucinating. There's no other logical explanation for what he's seeing – Danny, very much alive, holding a tub of whipped topping in his hands.

Before he can react, Grace is pushing aside the chair that she'd been using for cover; the sound of the chair legs scraping against the floor is loud and causes Steve to wince. His gun hand wavers, and then falls to his side when Grace throws herself at the Danny-shaped intruder.

"Danno! You're back!" Grace's voice rings in Steve's ears, and the floor is seriously starting to buckle and sway.

When the Danny lookalike turns to him, confusion marring his features, the gun falls from Steve's hand, and clatters to the floor. It chips one of the tiles, and sends a sharp piece of it into his ankle. It doesn't hurt, and Steve tells himself, dispassionately, that he's in shock. It's one of the first things he learned about when he was going through his mandatory training for field medicine.

Shock can take various forms, and right now there is a part of Steve that is calculating his responses with a cool, detachedness that has been drilled into him through his years of service as a Navy SEAL. Sweaty palms, increased heart rate, dry mouth, confusion, and nausea. All of which can be easily dealt with.

The hallucination though, isn't something that can be explained away with a diagnosis of shock. For something to take his mind off of what he is certain is some form of madness setting in, he picks up the gun, toggles the safety and places the weapon in the waistband of his sweatpants.

Danny continues to stare between Grace, who's clinging to her father as though she's afraid to let go of him, and Steve. Confusion is etched on his face, in the furrow of his brows, the downturn of his lips and the look of panic in his stormy, blue eyes. That fevered look of confusion in his partner's eyes pulls Steve from his stupor, and it's then that he realizes that Danny's hurt.

His head's swathed in a white bandage, there are dark circles under his eyes, and there's a pained expression on his face which could mean that Danny has injuries Steve cannot readily see, or that he's got a headache. Steve hopes it's the latter. He hates to think that Danny's got some other hidden injury.

"Danny," Steve breathes out, and he's beside his partner before the final syllable dies out on the spoken name.

He's not sure where to place his hands, because Danny's arms are full of Grace, the pink bunny, and the tub of whipped topping. Danny looks more than a little worse for the wear – like he's been sleeping on the beach, or the street. Steve's got a thousand questions running through his head, but another look at Danny stills the first of them on his tongue before Steve can voice it. He settles, instead, for simply wrapping his arms around Danny, Grace and the pink bunny, and breathing deeply of his partner.

He can smell the ocean – salt and fish – in Danny's hair, and there's another overlying mixture of scents which sting his nose. It takes a few seconds for Steve to place the odor– antiseptic and bleach – and when he does, he wonders how anyone in their right mind, let alone a professional in the medical field, could have let Danny leave a hospital or a clinic in the condition he's in.

"Steve?" Danny's voice is filled with confusion. "I got the whipped topping."

Danny presses the tub into Steve's side, and Steve moves to accept it, even though he doesn't think he'll ever be able to look at whipped topping without feeling panicked and guilty, without remembering the numbness he'd felt when the officer had told him that Danny was dead. He reaches behind him and places the whipped topping blindly on the counter.

"Danny, it's a little late," Steve teases, but he can see by the way that Danny frowns, that his lover doesn't catch onto his tone.

"Sorry, I, I couldn't find my wallet, or my car," Danny says. His eyes grow wide, and he turns his neck to look toward the front door. "I…Steve," his eyes are pleading, "do you mind getting the fare for the cab? I…and I think, I think I maybe stole the whipped topping…"

"It's okay, Danny," Steve says.

He squeezes Danny's arm, and though he too, like Grace, doesn't want to let go of the man, just in case Danny really isn't there, and he's a figment of his imagination, he does let go and quickly runs money out to the cabbie. The cab driver eyes him warily, and Steve assures him that he's a member of Five-0, that he isn't going to rob him or anything.

The man proves to be fairly useless in the information department when Steve asks him a few questions about Danny. All he gets from the cabbie is that someone called a cab for a man they thought had special needs, and that he picked Danny up from Safeway and then delivered him. Steve pays him his fare and gives the man a tip that would've been bigger had he been more informative.

By the time he gets back to the house, Grace is standing on her own two feet, but her hand's in Danny's and she gives Steve a worried look. "Uncle Steve, Danno thinks it's still Christmas."

Steve runs a hand through his hair and decides that, before anything else – making breakfast, calling Kono and Chin, and canceling his appointment with the funeral home director – he's got to get Danny to a hospital.

"Oh no, no, no, Steven, no," Danny says, and he's shaking his head, walking backward, taking Grace, who looks a little frightened, along with him.

Steve follows Danny and Grace back to the kitchen; concerned doesn't even begin to describe the white hot panic that he's feeling. "Danny?"

"I know that look, Steven, and I'm not going back to the hospital." Danny's still shaking his head; the counter stops his backward movement.

Grace dislodges her hand from her fathers and goes to Steve's side. Though Danny looks crestfallen, Steve takes Grace's hand and squeezes it reassuringly. There's a lot of explaining that needs to happen, and it looks like Danny's not going to the hospital, for some inexplicable reason, without a fight.

"How about if we all sit down?"

Steve nods toward the table, and pulls a chair out for Grace, and then another for Danny. He waits until Danny shuffles over to the table and takes the proffered chair before sitting down himself. Danny's not acting at all like the Danno who left on Christmas morning – he's stiff, wary, bordering on paranoid, eyes darting everywhere and landing only for a split second or two on him and Grace before flitting over to the door.

Danny can't seem to sit still. He's tapping his fingers against the tabletop and his left knee's bouncing up and down, hitting the underside of the table. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd say that Danny was on drugs. And, if what Danny had said about being at the hospital was true, then maybe he was.

"Steven," Danny says, his eyes darting over to Steve, "what day is it?"

Danny's fingers don't stop their incessant tapping and Steve thinks that he can finally understand why Mrs. Whitherford, his fourth grade teacher, was always getting on his case about tapping his pencil against the top of his desk. It's nerve-wracking, as is the leg jiggling.

"Danny, it's December 28th." Steve keeps his voice as calm as he can, even though he's panicking on the inside.

"But, when I left it was Christmas day, I went to get some whipped topping for the pie," Danny says, his voice pleading.

Steve reaches across the table, captures Danny's fingers mid-drum and simply holds onto his partner's hand. His heart is still trying to catch up with his mind with the fact that Danny is alive, let alone sitting across from him.

"How…three days?" Danny's eyes are shining with unshed tears.

"What happened?" Steve asks, and he's unsure whether Danny can even give him a coherent answer right now. Danny's clearly not himself. Everything in his being is screaming at Steve to take Danny to the hospital, in spite of the man's insistence that he has already been there, and he doesn't want to go back.

"I…" Danny runs a shaky hand through his hair, revealing a crimson stain that was hidden beneath the dirty locks.

Danny shakes his head and his eyes seem to go out of focus. "I think someone hit me? On the head? I, I'm not sure what happened. I just remember waking up in the hospital, and, and I couldn't remember who I was, and the doctors kept poking and prodding me, and they wanted to send me to a head shrink."

"That's okay Danno," Grace says, patting her father's hand, "you remember who you are now, don't you?"

"Yes, monkey, I do." Danny smiles, but Steve can see that it's strained.

"So, you're okay then," Grace says it like it's a done deal, and then she frowns. "Except for the fact that you still think it's Christmas Day."

"That's what I first remembered," Danny says, "after the doctors left and I could think. I remembered that it was Christmas and there was something I had to do for the two people I love most in this world."

Steve closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He's replayed his fatal Christmas request over and over in his mind until it no longer makes sense and it seems like something from a surreal dream. He's come up with different ways in which he could have kept Danny with them and alive, yet not one of his imagined scenarios had included this – Danny walking in three days later as though nothing had happened at all.

"Danny," Steve doesn't want to have to say this, but he's got to, so that Danny will understand why he and Grace are so reluctant to let go of him, he clears his throat, and starts again, "Danny, you were, we thought, we thought you were dead. They told us you were dead."

"Who?" Danny's brow furrows, his hand squeezes Steve's back.

"The police," Steve says it softly. "Your car was hit by an oil truck, your body, or at least they said it was your body," Steve chokes a little.

He'd had to go down to the morgue, even though there was not really much of a body for him to identify. He wanted to see it for himself, the proof that Danny was dead. Maybe he'd known all along, at some subconscious level, that Danny wasn't dead.

"Your body was burnt beyond all recognition." Steve pushes through the pain that the memory of seeing what he'd thought was Danny's body on a cold, metallic table, brings to the fore. "All they had left was your wallet; it was on the passenger's seat of the car." His voice sounds detached, and he wonders why Danny's wallet had been on the passenger's seat of the car, rather than in his back pocket.

"I'm sorry, babe," Danny says, and he's blinking back tears.

"Danny, no, you don't have anything to be sorry for," Steve rushes to reassure him, moving to slide onto the chair beside Danny so that he can hold him. "I don't understand what happened, how you came back to us, and I don't know whose body it is that I saw at the morgue, but I can't say that I'm not grateful that it isn't yours."

"I wish I could remember what happened before I woke up at the hospital, but whenever I try to think back, the last thing I remember is leaving to get whipped topping, and," Danny pauses and squeezes his eyes shut tight, "and everything else is just a blank. Like pitch, black night. And," Danny opens his eyes, and seeks out Steve's face, "and in my head it's still Christmas. I've lost three whole days, Steven. I've lost Christmas with you and Grace, and…"

"We can still have Christmas Danno,"Grace interrupts.

She's biting her bottom lip and looking steadfastly at her hands entwined together on the tabletop.

"I mean, if it's okay with you and Uncle Steve."

She looks up and takes a deep breath, as though she's expecting her idea to be shot down. "Couldn't we just have Christmas today?"

There are phone calls which need to be made: Chin and Kono need to be told that Danny's alive before they stop by to take care of Grace; the police need to be informed that reports of Danny's death have been highly exaggerated; and Steve needs to call the one person he'd told of Danny's death, Mary, and let her know that Danny isn't dead after all, that by whichever minstrel of fate had decided to intervene, Danny has been brought back to him alive.

"I don't see why not," Steve says slowly, looking to Danny for confirmation. "But first, I've got to make some phone calls, and I think your daddy here needs to take a shower."

Steve crinkles his nose, and Grace giggles, and that's all that it takes for Danny to smile and shake his head.

"That's all I get for apparently coming back from the dead?" Danny looks from Steve to Grace, who both nod at him as solemnly as they can, though their mouths are twitching as they try not to smile. "Fine how do you do, that is. Man comes back from the dead and you tell him to go take a bath. I guess I should be happy, at least you're offering to let me use the shower rather than hosing me down outside."

"Go shower Danno," Grace says, pinching her nose and waving her other hand in front of it, "you stink."

Steve pushes Danny from the chair they're both occupying, and Danny wobbles a little unsteadily, grasps the table and steadies himself. His smile, however, doesn't falter.

"Fine, fine, I know when I'm not wanted around." Danny laughs.

Before Danny can make it out of the kitchen, Steve, still remembering what it had felt like to wake up without Danny lying beside him – the cold sickness in the pit of his stomach – catches the man around the waist and pulls him into a hug.

It's uncharacteristic of him, Danny's almost always been the first to initiate physical contact, but Steve doesn't care. If he had it his way, he'd never let Danny go.

"Babe," Danny says, craning his neck so that he can look Steve in the eye, "you don't have to hold on quite so tight. I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

"You were dead, Danno," Steve murmurs, lips brushing against Danny's ear. "For three days, you were dead. Three days, Danno."

"But I'm here now," Danny says, "and I'm very much alive."

"I know, it's just that," Steve pauses, shuddering as he breathes deeply of Danny who smells like bleach and the sun and the sand and the ocean, "three days without you felt like a lifetime. I can't go through that again. Danny, promise me that you won't ever die again."

Danny places a kiss on Steve's palm and then extricates himself from his husband's arms. "Believe me, Steven; I hope that whatever happened to me doesn't ever happen ever again. I'm sorry for what you and Grace had to go through."

"C'mon Danno, go shower." Grace pushes her father away from Steve, even as she wraps an arm around his waist and tugs him through the kitchen door. "By the time you're all showered and presentable," Grace looks him up and down as she says this, "everything should be ready, and then we'll be able to celebrate Christmas for real."

"You really are a lot like your mother, you know that, right?"

"No, Danno, I think she gets that bossiness all from you," Steve calls out after the retreating pair.

Danny sneaks a hand behind Grace's back, where she can't see it, and flips Steve the bird. And, it's almost as if the man had never left, never died. Like it really is Christmas, and this is something they've been doing, together, for years. A sense of déjà-vu slams him hard in the chest, leaving him breathless, and he can only stand and stare, listen as Danny and Grace argue all the way up the stairs.

Once the phone calls are made, Steve and Grace go about trying to recreate Christmas as best they can – rewrapping gifts and placing them beneath the tree which had never been taken down. In years to come, this becomes a tradition – celebrating Christmas on the 28th, Danny's homecoming, instead of the twenty-fifth. It means that Grace can spend Christmas with her mother and Step-Stan, and then Danny and Super Step-Steve.

Kono, Ben, Chin, Kamekona and Max hurry over to help, and by the time Danny is heading down the stairs (after having finally given into Steve's demand that he get some sleep because he looked like one of the living dead), everything is ready.

Danny looks a lot less zombie-like when he makes his reappearance. His hair is disheveled and he's stifling a yawn behind a fist, but his eyes are clear and sparkling like the ocean when the sun glints off the waves.

The tub of whipped topping sits in the middle of the counter, Steve's eyes settle on it for just a second, and he can't help but feel some animosity toward it. He grabs the container and glares at it, hating the inanimate object for nearly being the death of Danny – of him – and he tosses it in the garbage. When he looks up, Danny's watching him, his brow's furrowed in question. Steve shakes his head. He's unable to voice what it is that he's feeling.

"C'mere." Danny opens his arms wide and Steve allows himself to be enveloped in them, and this time when he breathes in Danny's scent, it's as it should be – shaving cream, spicy aftershave, and something that smells an awful lot like cinnamon.

"Merry Christmas, Steven," Danny whispers.

"Merry Christmas, Danny," Steve echoes back.

* * *

Later that night – after everyone has gone home and Grace has assured herself that her Danno really is here to stay, that everything hadn't been a dream –when it's just the two of them in bed, arms and legs entwined, Steve whispers a prayer against Danny's temple.

"Mhm, what's that?" Danny asks sleepily, his head's pillowed by Steve's chest, and Steve runs his fingers through Danny's hair, enjoying the silky feel of it.

Steve's happy that Max has given his husband a clean bill of health, though he did suggest that Danny go to a doctor to see about his amnesia, and Steve is bound and determined to make that happen. Danny seems more himself than he had when he first walked into the house, but he's still got a long ways to go until he makes a full recovery.

"Nothing Danno, go to sleep."

"Can't," Danny mumbles.

"Why? What's wrong?"

"That's what's wrong with you army people, always jumping to the wrong conclusions before gathering all of the facts."

Steve doesn't correct him, but he sighs, and his fingers still in Danny's hair.

"Well, I was thinking," Danny says around a yawn, "that since you, and Grace, and, well everyone else, claim that today is really December 28th, and not December 25th…"

"Technically it's now the 29th," Steve corrects automatically and immediately bites his tongue.

Danny turns over, props himself up on his elbows, and studies Steve's face for a bit. He almost lazily traces Steve's lips with an index finger and smiles when Steve shivers at the touch.

"That just means we now have four lost days to make up for," Danny says with a decidedly wicked smirk.

"You're a wicked, wicked man," Steve chastises, and his next words, whatever they were going to be, are lost in a haze of incoherency as Danny kisses him.

Words would've been pointless anyway. Their kiss communicates every bit of anguish, loss, fear and horror that Steve had felt over the past three days, plus the utter joy and relief he'd felt when Danny walked into the kitchen very much alive. Steve can sense Danny's confusion and frustration as well, and the way it all just melts away over the course of their kiss.

Their kiss is long and slow – lips lingering on lips; teeth gnashing and nipping; tongues darting and tasting and remapping territory; fingers gripping and digging into flesh, leaving bruises behind; hearts pounding like mad against their rib-cages; and their cocks heavy and swelling, but there will be time for that kind of reunion much, much later. Right now, Steve is content to have Danny here, in his arms, and repeat the kiss, again, and again, and again.

* * *

Reviews would be greatly appreciated.


End file.
